


Trust Your Instincts, Especially If They're Screaming 'Makeouts!'

by Cheylock



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bromance, First Date, Fluff, M/M, Scott's POV
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-03
Updated: 2012-10-03
Packaged: 2017-11-15 12:59:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/527587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheylock/pseuds/Cheylock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scott knows how his best friends see each other; it's obvious beyond obvious, and he's the most oblivious person on the goddamn planet.</p><p>So why the hell aren't they dating again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trust Your Instincts, Especially If They're Screaming 'Makeouts!'

**Author's Note:**

  * For [twahtohnedskee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/twahtohnedskee/gifts).



> For Zoe. She prompted me fluffy Stisaac from someone else's POV and this happened. High on the reconciliation, because I guess I just needed to read/see/do that.
> 
> This song super inspired me to the point that I was obliged to put it in the fic, so here's a link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y6E-_7mKbNg&feature=g-like
> 
> We are totally disregarding the Alpha Pack and everything scary about Season 2 here.
> 
> Hope you like it!

A good deal of his summer is spent punishing himself.

 

It sounds stupid. but to him it makes total sense. He doesn’t deserve to be friends with Stiles, so he avoids him. He sees the guy maybe five times the entire month of June, which he _knows_ is stupidity, but he just feels this suffocating guilt every second he’s around Stiles—a blind person could see how alienated he feels, how exhausted he is all the time, and that is entirely Scott’s fault for dragging him into this werewolf crap. He feels bad for being a fucking awful friend, so he’s a worse friend. Because that’s sure to help a _lot_.

Somewhere during all this hangdog bullshit he casts around for someone else to hang out with, and Isaac’s the first person he thinks of. Thus, it’s Isaac who states the truth clearest one day. They’re playing Call of Duty, and Isaac’s fucking _eviscerating_ him. Scott watches him from the corner of his eye, trying to figure out how to broach the subject of Stiles and the widening gap that threatens to eat their friendship, when Isaac does it for him.

“You’re a dumbass, you know it?” Isaac’s grinning at him, all teeth and gums, but Scott hears the bite in his words and smells the sour disgust coming off him in waves. He can only nod.

“Yeah. I got that. I just dunno how to fix it now that it’s broken, you know?”

Isaac tilts his controller and leans into a shot he’s taking—he’s taken it upon himself to be the sniper of this particular session, and as a result he’s pulling a ridiculous amount of kills; Scott’s playing with him on split-screen and still has no idea where the hell he is on the map. “That’s probably the stupidest thing you’ve ever said, and I was there the day you asked Harris if riboflavin was a Kool-Aid flavor.”

“Alright, if you’re such a freaking guru, what should I do?” Just when Scott thought he had a lock on Isaac’s location—boom! Headshot! _Shit_. He leans back and looks Isaac in the face as he waits to respawn, but Isaac’s eyes hold the screen.

He doesn’t turn toward Scott and he doesn’t raise his voice above a whisper, but he doesn’t need to. “Be honest. Tell him everything. Spill your guts, dude. If you don’t this shit’ll come back to haunt you.”

“You’re probably right.”

“I’m always right.” Scott starts at that, but Isaac pretends not to notice—he’s too busy filling Scott’s fresh new spawn with bullets.

 

Later that night, Scott feels that familiar hollowness centered in his chest a bit harder than usual, and he stares up at the ceiling wondering how the hell he managed to make the hole shorn out by Allison’s absence even bigger.

He lays on his side (doesn’t really feel comfortable sleeping on his back anymore, too exposed, too easy to impale someone right through the chest like that) sort of floating in self-pity, and before he really realizes what he’s doing he’s sent a text.

 

 **You:** miss u

****

For a second he totally and completely panics, because he told Allison he was fine with it (he’s personally responsible for her mom’s death, how could she _not_ want to break up with him?) even though it was probably going to kill him or get someone else killed and he really hated being apart from her and not being able to kiss her when they _did_ see each other by chance but this, this is low, he really can’t even fathom how he could be such an asshole as to send her that—

 

 **Stiles:** Yeah dumbass, you should call once and a while. What’s been up?

 

—and somehow this is worse. He has no idea how but this is so, _so_ much worse. He thinks of sending a quick “wrong person lol” but he’s pretty sure that would make the situation go from ‘awkward’ to ‘fucking awful’ so he just whines out loud and goes with the most casual response he can think of, hoping Stiles’ll cut him a break.

 

 **You:** not much u

 **Stiles:** Oh you know waiting for my dumbass friend to pull his head out of his ass and hang out with me again. The usual.

 

Annnnd he totally deserves that.

 

 **You:** srry im a dick wnt 2 get pancakes 2mrrw

 **Stiles:** Yes, and you’re paying. Also that better mean ‘tomorrow’, god Scott just spell words it doesn’t take that long.

 **You:** does if u cn’t txt n yeah ill pay does 2 sound ok

 **Stiles:** You’re just lazy and yeah, 2’s fine as long as you mean PM. Meet you at IHOP?

 **You:** mhm cu there

 

So tomorrow’ll be the day he apologizes. _Awesome_. He tosses his phone on the floor and rolls over on his other side to sleep, but something itches at the back of his head and he sits there staring even _harder_ into the dark, wondering what the hell he forgot this time. It’s not the full moon tomorrow, he doesn’t have work, he’s not supposed to pick Mom up from day shift…what the hell is he forgetting?

 _Isaac_. _I’m supposed to hang out with Isaac tomorrow. Shit._

He crawls out of bed and hunts around until he finds his phone, safe in the hamper.

 **You:** hey man wnt 2 get pancakes 2mrrw

 **Isaac:** sure what time?

 **You:** 2

 **Isaac:** haha sure meet you at your place?

 **You:** yea cu @ like 1

 

Scott’s actually pretty proud that he didn’t even think about blowing Isaac off. For more than like, a second.

Stiles does not even sort-of share his opinion.

 

 

 

Stiles lets out an exasperated sigh as they approach him, leaning on the hood of his Jeep in the parking lot of the IHOP. “Okay, you brought one of the Leather Jacket Acolytes because…?” Stiles’s eyebrows’ve ridden up almost to his hairline, but there’s a kind of screaming going on in his eyes that Scott’s seriously freaking out over.

“Dude, it’s just Isaac. He’s my friend, too. Besides, it’s not like this is a date or something. And he’s totally not even wearing a jacket at all! It’s like a hundred degrees out here.”

Apparently that’s the wrong thing to say, because Stiles scrubs his hand through his hair and gives Scott a look that makes him want to hide under the car: the trademarked Stiles Stilinski “Scott Are You Shitting Me”, known to cause death by frustration and confusion in five out of five Scotts!

He turns to Isaac for support, trying for _his_ best “Come On, That Was An Accident I Didn’t _Mean_ To Be A Dickhead” eyes (which he has had a _long_ -ass time and a laundry-list of incidents to perfect) but Isaac is staring at him, smoke basically coming out of his nose, cheeks red and blotchy. “You have _got_ to be kidding me! You didn’t say you were going to meet with _him_! This is not the type of thing you require company for, Scott! You could’ve just said you’d made other plans.”

And now there are _two_ people looking at him like he completely fucked their day up. “Okay, okay, you guys, seriously, stop looking at me like that, it’s not that big of a deal, right? I mean, it’s not like you two hate each other or anything? Right? Did I miss that? Is that a thing that’s happening?”

“Well _he_ hates _me_ for sure” echoes in his head for a second and he tries to clear his ear out with his pinky, thinking the werewolf hearing’d somehow cranked the volume up to eleven, but Stiles and Isaac are staring at each other with their mouths open. Scott almost laughs before he remembers he’s _totally_ in the doghouse with both of them for reasons that do not make any sense to him at all and laughing would probably make one or both of them stab him with whatever they could get their hands on.

“Dude, I don’t hate you! When did I ever say I hated you? I never said that! That never came out of my mouth!” Stiles is gesticulating wildly and he slams a hand into his Jeep but barely starts, just grabs it and tries to rub the pain out. He looks just this side of desperate. _Probably something to do with the fact that Isaac could tear him into pasta strings without really thinking about it. Right?_

Isaac’s canines are showing and he’s leaning against the light pole Stiles is parked by. To the casual observer, he looks like he thinks he owns the place, but Scott’s gotten a pretty good read on his body language since they started hanging out. The more douche-y Isaac looks, the more uncomfortable he is. Right now he’s just under Jackson’s level of asshat so, diagnosis: barely holding it together.

“You didn’t have to explicitly state it; “I’ll skin your little werewolf ass” was close enough. And where’d you get the impression that _I_ hated _you_ exactly?” Isaac’s sneering, and that just flat-out made Scott nervous, because Isaac doesn’t sneer unless he thinks he’s going to have to kill someone.

“Wait, wait, wait, you seriously think that I hate you because I said something shitty while you were trying to kill Lydia? How insecure _are_ you exactly?”

Isaac’s sneer deepens and Scott winces in sympathy. Stiles has some _serious_ bite. Isaac looks like he’s going to come apart any second now. “Look, weren’t you both pissed at me a second ago? I kind of prefer that to this. Could we go back to that now?”

Stiles shakes his head and leans forward, staring Isaac in the eye. “Shut up, Scott, I want to make something clear to your dear little pal _right_ now. You threaten my friends?” He licks his lips and bobs his head around, twitching out an affirmative. “You threaten my friends, and hell yes, _hell_ _yes_ I will promise to skin you. If your incompetent ass’d ever gotten close enough to actually hurt her, I _would’ve_ skinned you and not thought twice about it. But you didn’t, okay? You are a giant fucking tool, but you didn’t touch her _once_ and you were actually pretty cool to us once we all got a handle on the whole kanima situation, so I don’t hate you. You’re actually not that bad when you’re not acting like a psychopath, but hey, I hold that opinion about most people. Okay?”

Isaac nods and Scott _really_ starts to wish he’d thought this through a little more. Being unreliable is totally preferable over getting his best friend flayed and eaten.

“Now that that’s settled, shall we?” Scott motions towards the IHOP and sweet, sweet AC, but Issac shakes his head.

“Not settled. Why do you think I hate you?”

Stiles slaps a hand over his faces and leans his head back, blowing out a long-suffering sigh. “I just figured you’d absorbed it through osmosis, okay? Your Alpha wants to grind my bones to make his bread or some shit, so I figured you’d, you know, agree. It’s cool that you apparently don’t, I am cool with that, that is actually a great relief, now can I go get my goddamn chocolate-chip pancakes before I die from sugar under-dose? Please?”

Isaac gives a tight little nod, but he hesitates when Scott and Stiles head towards the restaurant. Stiles rolls his eyes and waves at Isaac to come on, and Scott hears his friend’s hearts thud in tandem in their chests. Hmmmmmm. Now _this_ could be interesting...

 

In the restaurant, it’s easy to find a booth and sink into normalcy—Isaac whooped my ass at CoD, haha yeah I saw that one it was fucking awful, god I can’t believe House is really over—all the stupid shit that makes up _normal_ teenage friendship. Stiles makes some Adventure Time reference Scott doesn’t really get while they’re waiting for service, and Scott’s werewolf senses serve him well and not-well— Isaac’s heart stutters before he bursts into too-hard laughter and Scott looks at him quizzically, trying to say “What’s up?” without alerting Stiles to anything, but Isaac’s gone kind of pale and he shakes his head at Scott. Stiles is opening his mouth, obviously to ask what the hell is wrong with both of them, but his dad calls. He shrugs and picks up the phone just as the waitress walks up, grinning at Isaac.

“Hey, Marisa, ‘s good to see you! No, no, we don’t need menus—just three orders of what I usually get, one with chocolate chips, and chocolate milk for everybody, yeah?”

The girl nods at Isaac and walks away and Scott continues to attempting to communicate “What the hell is going on” with his eyebrows, but Isaac ignores him. Scott tries to be indignant about it, but he’s seriously too curious—Isaac’s _never_ secretive about _anything_ , at least not with him. It’s so weird he doesn’t even know what to make of it.

They sit awkwardly, Scott side-eying Isaac like there’s no tomorrow, while Stiles talks to his dad about curfew ( “ _for christsakes dad it’s daylight I’m not gonna get mugged at 2pm chill out_ ) and there’s another thing that’s Scott’s fault sneaking up to smack him between the eyes. Stiles’s dad doesn’t trust him anymore. And it is completely and utterly his fault. Scott leans back in the booth and sighs, and Isaac gives _him_ a look and _okay seriously what the hell is this?_

“Sorry, Dad, I’ve gotta go—something weird’s going on here.” There’s a shout loud enough to hear even _without_ the werewolf crap and Stiles is spluttering. “No no no no bad wording something weird with Scott not something weird with guns or fists or mountain lions or anything. Loveyoubye.” Stiles hangs up and then leans over the table, staring at Isaac and Scott with wide, earnest eyes. Scott is _really_ not liking where this is going. Stiles’s pulse jumps, then slows to a rate that’s pretty much near-dead for Stiles, and he swaps between both their eyes, swallowing hard a couple times before obviously forcing out possibly the weirdest leap of logic Scott’s ever heard: “If you two are dating you can tell me.”

The day keeps getting better.

This time Scott really can’t hold in his laughter—he’s pounding on his legs, the table, Isaac’s arm, anything he can reach, his stomach is screaming and his cheeks are killing him, but he seriously can’t stop—it’s totally explosive. Isaac is spluttering indignantly, and Scott’s actually a little offended by how horrified he seems, but it doesn’t make the situation any less funny.

“Me. Me and Scott. Us? We’re friends. _Friends_. FRIENDS, Stiles! How could you—I mean…seriously? You seriously thought that? Jesus, Stiles, his Xbox Live tag is still allisonluver#1, are you shitting me? Really?”

And now Stiles’s cheeks are bright ruddy pink and he looks like he’s waiting for the booth to eat him and _seriously oh my fucking god something un-funny needs to happen so I can stop, oh my god this is funny beyond funny please someone help me,_ and just then the waitress walks up with three huge platters and enormous glasses and _Oh Hell No I am not paying for all that_.

“Which one of you wanted the chocolate chips? There’s no way it was Isaac, he orders the exact same thing every single time he comes in.” She smiles and all Scott can see for a third of second is Allison, but no, no, her hair’s a little too wild, her skin a little too tan, her smile a little less completely and utterly perfect—

And then the food and drinks’ve been doled out and Not-Allison-Her-Name’s-Marisa’s wandered off and Stiles is looking back and forth from his plate to Scott in sheer elation.

“Is this what I think it is?! Seriously!” The guy’s practically bouncing in his seat and Scott has no idea how on earth to respond because he has zero idea of what he’s looking at. Yeah, they’re pancakes, but there are like fifteen of them on his plate and they’re all weirdly…long?

“Um. What do you think it is exactly?

And for fuck’s sake, his friend, his friend who he’s been avoiding for months, officially makes all that avoiding necessary and righteous and utterly guilt-free, _because he bursts out in song in a fucking IHOP_.

“ _Bacon pancakes makin’ bacon pancakes_ ,” and then Isaac joins in and Stiles switches his focus to him, and suddenly Scott is watching his two best friends in the whole damn word basically serenade each other over _fucking pancakes_ and he seriously hopes that he and Allison never looked that weird when they were going through their ‘mating rituals’ phase, good God.

“ _Take some bacon and I put it in a pancake_

_Bacon pancakes that’s what it’s gonna make_

_Bacon pancaAAAaakes!_ ”

They’re both laughing and smiling and giggling and really, just being sickening. “Okay, would one of you like to clue me in to what the hell’s going on here?”

Stiles tears his eyes away from Isaac’s and his heart’s beating so hard Scott can practically taste it, _seriously oh my god my friend is literally the only person in the entire fucking world who could get turned on by a song about pancakes why do I hang out with these people_ , “Scott! Dude! Adventure Time! It’s a song from an episode! And…and we have some! We have some bacon pancakes!” For a minute Scott stops caring about how embarrassing this entire thing is, because Stiles looks happier than he’s looked in _months_ and maybe it doesn’t matter that if literally anyone who actually knows them is in this place then Scott’ll catch no end of crap for it, but then Stiles frowns and that weird gravity comes back into his eyes. “Wait. So these are like totally and completely your idea, Isaac?”

And yep, Scott is totally just going to pretend that he didn’t hear Isaac’s heart jump when Stiles said his name.

“Uh…yeah.” Isaac smiles and shrugs, sliding his fingers around on the table with one hand and cutting into the ‘bacon pancakes’ with one side of his fork. Scott takes this as his cue to dig in, and he starts scarfing the surprisingly good pop culture references because hey—breakfast for lunch and an awkward, awkward show, what could be more fun? “I know ‘Rissa from group home, she’s really nice and we sort of hit it off when she heard me streaming the show from my room…in my defense I’m planning on buying it the second I get my first paycheck from Dr. Deaton.” He looks up, eyes blazing, as if he were expecting either Scott or Stiles to berate him for his piracy. Scott has bigger fish to fry—he’s eating, he’s busy.

Stiles opens his mouth and Scott feels his stomach clench—anything could come out of those black depths, anything at all, and it could easily be something so unbelievably stupid that Isaac wolfs out and rips Stiles’s head off.

…

Okay, so maybe that fear’s unrealistic, Isaac’s gained a lot of control and they’ve never really had any kind of “rip your head off” issues with anyone _ever_ so maybe he’s just being overprotective but seriously Stiles says some _stupid_ shit and Scott doesn’t even want to think about what it’d be like to clean him off the wall—

But Stiles, as it happens, has a little more tact that Scott really gives him credit for. “Dude, why bother? I have the first two seasons on DVD and I’ve totally bought enough merch to justify my torrent of the third—do you wanna borrow ‘em?”

Isaac blushes and looks down at his food (of which he has barely eaten any, and Scott has no _idea_ how that’s possible holy shit these are the crunchy nibbles of the gods), but he nods. Both of their hearts are thundering and they both’re emitting some crazy pheromones, to the point that Scott has to force himself not to laugh again to make sure he doesn’t choke on his food. Wouldn’t _that_ be an awesome way to die? Can easily survive being run over by a car but get one chunk of food stuck where you can’t get it unstuck and _poof_. Werewolf healing powers don’t mean shit. Scott slows down and chews a little more thoroughly. For a few minutes, there’s no sound but scraping forks, and appreciative moans from all. Scott has to zone in on his food because seriously, the upticks from the moaning are _fucking hilarious_ and he really _really_ does not want to choke to death.

“Hey, Isaac,” Scott hears the jump again and he seriously can’t help but snicker. Isaac elbows his ribs and he starts coughing but Stiles completely ignores the little exchange, “is there anything else you need to catch up on? I’m kind of a sucker for TV-on-DVD and I have a bunch of stuff. Although if you laugh at my Golden Girls collection, I will seriously rescind my offer and you will never see a scrap of my awesome collection _ever_.”

Isaac looks up, his eyebrows knitting together. “What’s Golden Girls?”

“No, Stiles. No. You are not getting him into that. That is the weirdest thing you like. Seriously, I can live with the insane online role-playing games and the fucking endless Battlestar Galactica references and the _collection of Sonic Screwdrivers_ but I am not kidding at all, you can force all of those obsessions on him but you are not allowed to make him like a show full of old ladies talking about sex. It’s just not happening.”

“They do not just talk about sex, okay!? There’s actual drama up in there, and Rose Nylon is _classic_ Betty White—”

“If Betty White’s in it, I’m in, I sat through that crap You Again movie with Erica because of that woman.”

Scott can see his own expression of disbelief echoed on Stiles’s face, but while his is tinged with horror, all he can see on Stiles’s face is excitement.

“You have seriously got to be kidding me right now. This is not happening. You are not going to make him watch Golden Girls. No.”

 

So that’s how all three of them wind up at Stiles’s house an hour and a half later, sorting through a bin he keeps on the top shelf of his closet, trying to find the first season of Golden Girls. There’s more crap in here than Scott’s ever seen before, and he’s inclined to hold a few things up with his eyebrows quirked. “Yes, that’s Kimba, it’s what The Lion King was a rip-off of, besides Hamlet, it’s pretty weird.” “Oh, oh, oh my god yes I’ve been looking for that—this is Evangelion! It’s awesome, Isaac, have you seen it? Yeah, bleedy robots, it’s crazy as hell.” “BBC Sherlock! Come on, really you guys?! Neither of you?! Really?”

Scott’s amazed at the sheer volume of DVD sets. At least a third of them are shows he remembers being on early-morning TV when he was…what? Ten? “Stiles, when did you have time to _watch_ all these?!”

“You know, in the mornings before school, plus two episodes a night after homework, plus however many I want during the days lately—the big thing is, I’m consistent. Unless I’m spending the night or you’re spending the night or stupid werewolf shit, I watch at least an hour’s worth every single—hey, Isaac, you totally need to take that out, that’s Charmed, you’re borrowing it—every single day. That translates to roughly two hundred hours of TV, if you have a control of one hundred sixty-five days. That’s roughly three hundred forty-minute episodes, or, if you go by the standard twelve-episode season, twenty-five seasons of a thing. Most shows only have four or five and you’re both looking at me like I just grew an extra head why?”

“You have actually done the math on this and you remember it. You are the biggest loser to ever exist. Ever. Stiles, you should’ve called me. If I’d know you’d fallen this far into loser-dom, I never would’ve left you alone for more than a day.” Scott can’t seem to figure out how to fully close his mouth. Goddamn, Stiles needs a girlfriend.

Isaac is having the same problem, but for a different reason, apparently. “ _Stiles_.” Stiles blushes and stares, and Scott can’t really blame him, because the last time someone said _his_ name like that he was kissing her neck and he is officially not allowed to think about that ever again, because sad boners are the worst boners. Then a lightbulb goes on in Scott’s head, and he recognizes, really seriously recognizes, the fifth good idea he’s had in his teenage life. Maybe Stiles _doesn’t_ need a girlfriend.

Maybe he needs a _boyfriend_.

He can’t stop the wicked grin, and luckily his friends are too wrapped up in pretending not to be wrapped up in each other to notice.

 

At the end of the night, they drop Isaac off first, with a backpack full of DVDs and the promise/threat that if he scratches even a single one Stiles’ll make boots out of him. The line’s delivered with a lot of grin, but Isaac’s answering quip (“I’ll protect them with my life. I hate feet. Thanks, Stiles.”) is a touch too solemn to laugh at.

The ride to Scott’s house is weirdly long. Scott can’t think of anything to say other than “ahahahaha you want his dick” and he has a feeling that wouldn’t be very well-received, so he cranks the radio and doesn’t complain when Stiles sings along way too loud. Scott has no idea how he keeps so many song lyrics in his head. As they near his house, Stiles reaches over and turns the radio down, even though it’s playing “Some Nights” by Fun and that’s his favorite radio-playable song. Besides “Super Bass”, Scott knows he likes that one a lot, too.

“Dude.” Stiles pauses for a second, kind of seems to rock on the fence, and then gets this determined look in his eye that always lets Scott know he’s in for it. “What exactly did Isaac mean earlier? Like, way earlier? When he said ‘this isn’t the type of thing you bring company for?’” Stiles’s voice is trembling a little, and Scott literally wants to beat himself in the face rather than have this conversation. Hell, he wants to beat himself in the face because this conversation is _necessary_.

“I’m sorry I was an asshole, okay? Am an asshole. Have been an asshole. I’m just…I’m sorry for basically everything that’s happened. I’ve been…well, I’ve been an _asshole_. I have been like the shittiest friend ever and I know I only made it worse but really you’re my best friend and I am so sorry and I swear I’m gonna make it up to you, okay? Somehow. I’ll figure something out. But I’ve treated you like shit, and I’m just…I’m sorry.”

Stiles is silent during this entire rant, and Scott is lingering between grateful and thunderstruck, because usually when he does the whole whiny apologize-y thing he gets interrupted at least fifteen times with hand-flailing and “Please stop you said it once and that’s all I really needed, ya jackass, now hug me”. The quiet and the stillness goes on just long enough to have Scott cringing, expecting to get punched in the face or worse—for Stiles to start _actually crying_. Scott is pretty sure he’s not equipped to deal with that _at all_.

What he’s not expecting is for Stiles’s face to close off completely. “Okay, shit, Stiles, what’d I say?”

“You’re not the only one who had to make choices, man. Everything I did, I did of my own free will. I mean, yeah, okay, I kind of got dragged into the werewolf stuff, but neither of us…” Stiles stops and licks his lips, then falls back in his seat and stares at the corner of the windshield closest to Scott. “The penultimate fuck-up here is mine. I was the one who dragged you out in the middle of the night and…and I was the whole fucking reason you got bit, Scott. You can’t tell me you haven’t thought of that. I sure as hell have.” Stiles sighs, and Scott watches his whole body deflate, and his brain tugs him into a zillion directions but it finally settles on the one that’s burning brightest. The one that’s always burning brightest.

“If I wasn’t a werewolf, Peter would’ve killed Allison. He was after her entire family, Stiles. He was nuts.” And then the big truth, the one he that’d kept him up nights, the one he’d never, ever said out loud. “Allison never wouldn’t have noticed me if I wasn’t a werewolf, dude. You actually did me a really big favor.” Stiles seems to re-inflate a little and his eyes spark back up, like he’s going to tell Scott he’s a fucking idiot for even thinking that, but Scott’s suddenly exhausted and he just wants this conversation to be over. “Look, Stiles. Look at me.” Stiles does, and Scott’s horrified—his eyes are draining again, and there are lavender circles under his eyes that Scott’s probably been conveniently overlooking for the past few months. “Can we please just agree that nobody deserves the blame here, that we’re both just two fucking stupid teenagers who got sucked in way over their head and just be done with it? Please? Because I’m sorry, but you’re my friend and a little fuckin’ werewolf bite isn’t gonna change that.”

Stiles nods then, and Scott lets out a thick breath. “Looks like you’re not the only dumbass in the car, Scott.”

Stiles’s voice is a little too wobbly for Scott’s comfort. “I’m never the only dumbass in the car, Stiles, now give me a damn hug so I can go inside and pass out. You have an ass-load of DVDs, I swear Isaac’ll never make it through all the ones you gave him.” Stiles’s heart jumps in his chest again and Scott can’t help but smile. “By the way, and this is only fair, he likes you, too. He can tell you like him because of—” he taps his ear and then his nose and wriggles his eyebrows. “Never would’ve expected it, glad to see you got over that crush on Derek, though.”

Stiles is staring at him open-mouthed, eyes bugging out of his head. “Holy shit I did not even think about that oh god” sort of whisper-crawls out of his mouth and Scott hugs him, but he stays all stiff and not-huggable. “Oh god he totally thinks I’m the biggest fucking weirdo ugh what even is my life Scott seriously please will you kill me or can we at least come up with a signal that lets me know that I’m doing something that…what…I don’t know _triggers_ you fucking embarrassment-guns really you just make the shoot-y finger at me please so I’ll know oh god why” and Scott knows he shouldn’t but he’s laughing and smiling and patting his friend on the back.

“Stiles, you are forgetting something very important.” Stiles looks at him with wide eyes, hopeful but terrified, and yeah, he can _totally_ work with this. “What he has, I also have. I’m not saying he likes you because I know him really well, okay? I’m saying he likes you _because I actually know_. I’m pro like that.” Scott pulls back and watches 50 Shades of Embarrassment leading into 50 Shades of Joy, trying really hard not to be super entertained and failing miserably.

“Holy shit, are you serious?! Like…really? _That_ likes me?”

Scott wrinkles his nose. “Dude, what the hell are you calling him ‘that’ for?”

“Scott, you’re an idiot, have you seen him!? He hardly counts as human, he’s a freakin’ demi-god! Really, I would not be the least bit surprised if the angels sang every time he blinked and wow I’m really saying this all out loud, aren’t I? Scott, I swear, if you repeat _any_ of this I’ll—”

“What, you seriously don’t think he can hear and smell this for himself? The full moon’s in two days, you smell like lust when you start _thinking_ about him, bro. You need to relax. And ask him out.” Scott opens his door and starts to slide out of the car.

“Wait! If he likes me and he can tell I like him back why wouldn’t he…you know…make the first move or…or something?”

“Okay, remember that comment about ‘how insecure are you’ or whatever you said?” Stiles nods once, hard, and then horror dawns in his eyes. “Yep. That was pretty much dead-on. He’s not exactly the bravest guy. Well…okay, that’s not totally right, he’s pretty brave, he just doesn’t really like unnecessary risk. Like at all.”

Stiles is nodding and he looks like he’s about to whip out a pen and pad and take notes, which is Scott’s cue to get the hell out before this turns into an interrogation on the life and personality of Isaac Lahey. “Okay, good to know. And Scott?”

Damn. He was just getting ready to shut the door. “Yeah?”

“I um…” Stiles licks his lips again. “I don’t need any, like, _help_ or anything with this, okay?”

“Oookay. Whatever you say man. Good night.”

“I mean thank you for telling me and everything—”

Scott smiles to himself when Stiles roars “good night” as loudly as he can through the closed car door, even though Scott could easily hear him if he muttered it from this distance. He turns and waves Stiles out of the driveway and grins to himself. _At least somebody around here’ll be getting laid._

 

 

 

 

Scott is understandably disappointed when, a week and a half later, no moves have been made by anyone.

 

 **You:** wht th hell y rnt u 2 goin out

 **Stiles:** He just doesn’t seem that interested okay seriously just don’t even he keeps acting like a tool whenever you leave I don’t get it I am really really frustrated right now so can we not?

 **You:** does tht whn hes nervous

 **Stiles:** Holy shit you spelled two words out completely and one of them’s more than four characters long.

It takes him ten minutes to tap out his response, but it’s totally worth it just for the reaction.

 

 **You:** Fuck you, Stiles. I’ll talk to him for you.

 **Stiles:** Do whatever you want just tell me what you did with Scott, vile Demon!

 **You:** lol but u did giv ur prmission im gunna rly do it

 **Stiles:** Oh thank God, you’re back! Scott, I think someone hacked your phone or something!

 **You:** fk u

 **Stiles:** Really Scott? Really? It takes too long to spell out ‘fuck’? Really?

 

 

Scott shows up at the group home at about four, and he figures he has an hour before the movie starts, so he’s gotta think and talk fast. This could be interesting.

The place’s run by a really chill lady with close-cropped silver hair, and she shows him in to what’s basically a foster home but for about ten kids in all. It’s not super personal, but it’s nice, and Scott’s sure it’s a whole hell of a lot better than Isaac’s empty house or that cold-ass subway station. The woman’s seen him a couple times and she leads him straight to Isaac’s room, the one on the ground floor that’s farthest away from all the rooms that are super-lived in besides the bathroom.

Isaac’s door’s closed, and he goes to knock on it, but she grabs his wrist and shakes her head. “He doesn’t really like that. It seems to scare him every time somebody knocks before coming in, so we just sort of call for him until he—”

Isaac opens the door, looking chagrined but not really surprised. “Hey, Ms. Vanessa. Thanks for noticing about the knocking and for showing Scott to my room.”

“No problem.” She stays very formal, but she almost shyly reaches out and pats his shoulder. “You’re a good kid. You and your friend have fun.”

Isaac smiles at her and she returns it, then shuffles off at a speed that Scott’s constantly surprised by. Isaac motions him inside the room with a head jerk.

It’s small without being suffocating, and the paint is this really weird but pretty lavender color that Isaac’d picked maybe two days after he moved in that, of course, makes Scott think of Allison. It makes the light seem just a little less harsh and the room just a little bigger and the bed look a little more comfortable. It’s weird, but soothing beyond all reason. Scott’d long ago replaced his phone background with that color, though he did kind of miss seeing Allison’s face all the time.

Isaac clears his throat and raises his eyebrows at Scott. Oh. Right.

“Okay, we have _got_ to find a way to make you less nervous around Stiles, because you’re apparently being a dickbag every time I leave and shit is just not cool, Isaac. You can trust Stiles and you know that, so why the asshole act?”

“How do you know it’s an act?” Isaac asks as he basically fucking recreates exactly the same pose Jackson was doing two days ago when they saw him out at the mall.

“Dude, do you want me to start naming names here? Ferdinand. Rodney. Sparky. Cuddles.”

“Why the hell are you naming dogs we take care of?”

“There you go. Anyone who is actually that enormous of a douche would not remember the names of dogs from _before he actually worked there_.”

“I was just around a lot!”

“Yeah okay, whatever Isaac. Just come off the defensive for like five seconds and actually talk to me? Please? We only have so much time.”

At this Isaac’s eyebrows shoot up and settle somewhere around his hairline. “And that means what, exactly?”

“We’re gonna go see Iron Man, they’re playing it at that weird place downtown—the Crescent Theater?”

“No really? Awesome! I went there all the time with my brother, that was like the only thing we did together; did you know they do live Rocky Horror Picture Show things? Those are the most fun things ever, people squirted water on us in the front row and we had to hold newspapers over our heads, it was great!”

Scott can’t help but smile at his friend—the guy’s always trying to be so aloof and tough, but he’s so innocent in some ways it’s just about enough to break Scott’s heart. He barely resists the urge to ruffle Isaac’s hair, feeling so much like his mom it scares him a little bit. “Why can’t you be like this around _him_ , Isaac? You know, like…yourself? You know he’s totally trustworthy; hell, he’s probably more trustworthy than I am. So what’re you even doing?”

“I don’t even know, okay?! I’m not good with this stuff I’m not good with liking people and being liked and **_shit_**.” Isaac’s eyes are huge, panicked, and his breath is starting to gust a little. He’s got his own hands in a death-grip and Scott’s starting to fear for his fingers.

“Dude, what’re you afraid of?”

“Um…probably _most_ afraid of enclosed spaces, not good with yelling, and also that I’m misinterpreting everything or I’m just really stupid and I’ve already messed everything up?”

Scott lets out the most melodramatic sigh in the history of sighs, which is insane because what else are sighs besides melodramatic? “Dude, just come on. If we don’t get there early we’ll have to sit in the boring _normal_ seats instead of the recliners in the front. There are recliners in the front, right? That’s not just a rumor?”

“No, yeah, they really have those…”

And you’re right about one thing.”

Isaac looks at him with huge eyes, and Scott sighs _again_. Goddamn these two, makin’ him into a preteen and a 35 year old woman at the same time.

“You _are_ being stupid. Stiles’s so into you he can barely keep his head straight. You just have to be real around him, relax, and trust your instincts, k?”

“But all my instincts tell me to do is make out with him!”

“Well…yeah, okay, I stand by my statement.”

 

 

They take Scott’s mom’s car and Isaac all but bounces up and down all the way to the theater, grinning and babbling about his prior Crescent experiences. Scott really wishes that Stiles was riding with them. He’d get a huge kick out of this. “Oh my god just wait until you see the huge red curtain they have hanging over the screen it looks _so cool_!” It almost made Scott wish he was actually going in.

 

His mom does her job perfectly—she calls minutes after he pulls in and screams that she needs the car _like two and a half hours ago, Scott, God, I told you!_ He barely manages not to smile. Isaac starts to get back in the car, but Scott insists he stay.

“Dude, just ‘cause my day’s ruined doesn’t mean that yours has to be! Go ahead! I already paid for the tickets—they’re under your name. Pre-ordered.”

“But…but I don’t really want to go by myself…” Isaac looks so desperate Scott could laugh.

“OH! Dude! Why don’t you ask Stiles to come meet you here? He can probably give you a ride home, too. I know he’d _love_ to see this movie.”

“Oh. Yeah. I guess. I mean…do you really think he’d want to? I thought he was more DC ‘Verse?”

“Nope, he’s a Marvel man, our Stiles.” _I hope. “_ Just call and ask him! I’ve really gotta go though—have fun!”

 

As Scott pulls away, he sends a quick text to Stiles.

 

 **You:** sry man mom’s havin a bad day can’t come over after all :(

 **Stiles:** Sorry to hear that! I hope she feels better soon. Give her a hug for me.

 

And now Scott feels like an asshole, but oh well. He parks four streets away and runs back to the theater in minutes. Now time to creep!

 

Scott hears Isaac mutter something low and then Stiles is laughing.

“Dude, no, no, seriously, I don’t care that it’s last minute! This thing was sold out when I called to reserve _my_ ticket—that’s the only reason I wasn’t already going to come. A chance to watch Iron Man on a screen bigger than my bed? No way I’m passing that up!” Scott has to physically stifle his laughter—looks like that ten-dollar bribe worked! The guy _actually_ told Stiles they were sold out. _Beautiful_.

Isaac laughs and stuffs his hands into his pockets and Scott hears Stiles’s heart speed up. He grins from his place on the roof, and Stiles leans just far enough back for Scott to see what he’s wearing. An I (arc reactor) Tony Stark and…drum roll please! The lavender button-down that’s exactly the same shade as Isaac’s wall. Allison-purple.

“So, you wanna go get a seat?” Scott can hear the tremor in Isaac’s voice.

“Yeah, sounds good.”

 

A few minutes later they’re seated in the recliners up front. Scott knows this because he’s currently seated in the back row of the theater, where the lighting is already dim, in the distinctly less comfortable-looking traditional theater chair. He’s glad his assumption was right—working off the way he was around Allison, he guessed that Isaac wouldn’t notice him slipping into theater as long as he didn’t make any sudden movements. Securely positioned, he munches his popcorn and begins recon.

About fourty-five minutes into the movie, Isaac is talking to Stiles in a low voice about how much he adores Robert Downey Jr.’s performance, and how perfectly the man portrays his third favorite super-hero, after Deadpool.

Stiles is the one who trusts his instincts in this relationship apparently.

After a half-hour of nobody coming up for air, Scott heads out.

He figures his work here is done.


End file.
